A Gift Of Love by archy12
by Twilight Diversity Contest
Summary: "You wouldn't call my Mum pretty. However, you can call her one of the most beautiful women on this earth." A handsome stranger, a discovery about their mother…Life is precious.


**Title of Story: A Gift of Love**

 **Story Summary: "You wouldn't call my Mum pretty. However, you can call her one of the most beautiful women on this earth." A handsome stranger, a discovery about their mother…Life is precious.**

 **Pairing: Edward/Bella**

 **Rating: T**

 **Word Count: 5675**

 **Disclaimer:** _The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended._

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 **A Gift of Love**

You wouldn't call my Mum pretty. Nah, she's not even average in the looks department. Not that her nose is too long or short or she's cross-eyed or has pixie-like ears. No, it's just that God was in an indecisive mood when he put her together. He made the frame all right, but when he reached the face he ran out of ideas to construct anything new, or so it seems to me. I think he just picked up the leftovers from the day and glued them on the surface. None of them seem to belong together.

It is as if a kid had drawn a circle and filled it with lines for eyes and nose and mouth without giving a damn for proportions. Her features have been built for functional purpose only. She can see, breathe, hear and speak. Nobody is going to write poems on the magnificence of her eyes or the perfection of her lips.

Her complexion is somewhat patchy, dark in some places and light in others. She has beautiful hair though, jet-black, long and lustrous. And she's tall, she really is!

If you looked at her from the back you would think she might be a top-rank model with a hot body. Tall and thin, with hair rippling down her back like a cascade of dark water.

However, you would think this only if she is standing still. For as soon as she moves the illusion is broken. And the truth is far from pretty.

As a result of a trivial childhood accident, grossly neglected, her left ankle was permanently damaged, leaving her with a slight limp. Her parents were stinking rich, but they figured it was unimportant to care for an ugly girl. It was her fate to be so. Besides, they had another daughter to pamper.

The younger one, (must have been spoilt rotten), was the exact opposite in looks, according to my fond grandparents. At least, that is what I have gathered from their numerous mushy recounts. Oh yes, Rose was sooo pretty, adorable and cuddly as a baby and vivacious and sweet-tempered as a grown-up. Took after both of them, you see.

Poor Mum. God only knows where she had descended from!

"Rose was a typical Indian beauty," gushes my grandmother even today. "She had these doe-like eyes that would melt one's heart with a single, demure look. She had a small nose, slightly upturned, just like me. And her lips were of the shape of the Cupid's bow, and her dimples…She had such a sweet disposition. I never saw her frown in her life." And cue the sigh.

Oh, how I wish it was permissible to be rude to one's grandmother!

The funny thing is, Mum is not bitter about anything. She says she understands.

Her parents, the pillars of the business community in their small town in the southern part of India, were hoping for a son as their firstborn. But all they got was a daughter, that too an ugly one. Naturally they were disappointed. How were they going to explain it to their relatives and friends? On my grandfather's side, the first child in every generation had been a boy. And then this!

The second daughter, born five years later, didn't bother them too much as by then they had lost any hope of having any other child. (They had married kind of late anyway.) That she was pretty as a picture was a bonus. They had no more children, so they showered all their love on her.

Not that it excuses their criminal neglect of the elder daughter.

Even now you will find their living-room walls adorned with the pictures of a lovely, laughing girl—dancing, holding a trophy, enjoying herself on a picnic, or blowing the candles on her birthday cake. Only a few group pictures show another girl, older, with a shy smile on her lips. That's Mum. She looks rather out of place, ready to run out of the frame. It is clear she wasn't feeling comfortable there.

No prizes for guessing who must have made her feel so awkward.

Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. Mum's a doctor—a pediatrician. You see, she loves kids, all of them. She doesn't treat them just physically, she goes into their psyche. She becomes their confidante and friend, much like she's ours. And don't they adore her!

I have even seen some of her long-term patients cry their hearts out when it is time to leave the hospital. And while they are there, it is always Bella aunty this and Bella aunty that. To be honest, it made me jealous when I was younger, to see her surrounded by all those kids, and her face glowing with love and happiness. Now of course I understand. She is so full of love that she has _got_ to distribute it among as many children as possible. Or maybe making sure no other child feels neglected, as she used to do.

I have got a sister as well, couple of years younger to me. Her name is Angela, but Mum calls her Pari, meaning fairy, because she says she is pretty like one.

I say that she did when she was a child and Mum dressed her up in the prettiest of dresses. But ever since she has turned fifteen she has also turned into a rebel without a cause. She sports the typical grunge look and streaks her hair pink and purple for her friends' birthday parties. Really, she is getting to be a brat, but Mum says she will outgrow it; she is just high- spirited.

My grandparents agree, of course. After all, she is the apple of their eye. They say that she takes after her mother. Our mother, actually. That is, our biological mother. Oh, didn't I tell you? I am not telling this story in the correct order, am I? But then, I am not a pro in this department. Let me try to explain it better.

So, anyway, what I was saying is that Aunt Rose is our biological mother. Why am I calling her Aunt? Well, it is kind of difficult to connect with her. She died real early, right after my sister was born. So I don't remember her at all. Neither do I miss her.

Does that sound disloyal? But you see, Mum is _Mum_ to me. Aunt Rose is just her sister. Of course, my grandparents still miss her, and praise her a lot too, every time they meet Mum. Which is more than I would like them to.

And you know what Grandma told us on her last visit? That nobody would have married Mum ever, so it was lucky for her Dad took pity on her after Rose's death and married her. How _can_ she? How can any mother say it? And Grandpa keeps quiet, never stops her. One day I'm going to explode, and tell them exactly what I think of them, the old fogies!

I mean, I know Mum loves us, I feel it in my bones. And I think Dad knows too. He treats Mum okay. In fact, he's rather respectful towards her, as if she was her senior officer! (Dad is in the administrative services, you see.) And Mum, she treats him like she does all of us—friendly, but a bit maternal. Sometimes I wonder about their relationship. But both of them love us, so life is pretty good for Pari and me, no complaints.

Mum is a pretty regular kind of person. I mean, you know just what she will say and how will she react in a situation. I thought she has always been like this, but today I got a huge shock. The whole thing is completely insane, unbelievable.

The day had begun like any other weekday. Pari and I had our breakfast and left for school while Mum and Dad were getting ready for work. At school, James, my classmate, was still trying to get friendly with Pari. At the rate he is going, he would successfully ask her for a date in a hundred years, maybe. Nice chap, but he does get nervous in front of her. Not that impressing Pari is easy. She is so totally cool, even I would have been nervous in James's place. I mean, she is very friendly, but she has a way of looking at you which makes you stumble over your words. Especially if you are going to ask something personal. Makes you feel kind of silly, if you know what I mean.

We rehearsed for the Christmas musical, and Mrs. Cope was really pleased with my flute-playing. Even went to the extent of saying I had potential. That's something, coming from her. I doubt even Lord Krishna would have received anything more if he had suddenly appeared in front of her and played a soulful tune. She would have been impressed, but her expression would have remained unchanged. She is the very picture of stoic.

She would have nodded slowly and commented—"Young man, you have potential. Carry on! And better wear something warm, you will catch cold in those garments!"

She would have probably added something like 'teenagers nowadays will do anything to look different' as well!

Have you seen Krishna's pictures? I really like him. Those colourful clothes and that mischievous smile, at least in the pictures depicting him as a child, and he never lost his cool. That's something I would like to emulate. Not that I get into fights easily, but I have frequently experienced that boiling bubbling feeling in my blood when faced with injustice or hypocrisy. I tend to stew in my anger, which I think is as bad as letting it out violently.

Anyway, where were we? Oh yes, Krishna and his coolness.

Sometimes I wonder if Krishna was weather-proof. He never crippled his style by loading himself with pullovers or jackets. Guess a number of dudes today are inspired by his sense of (un)dress. And then they say we are trying to show off!

We reached home at the usual time, and there was the first surprise of the day. Mum was home. Her car was parked outside the garage. But how could that be? She never took an off unless one of us was sick. At least, not that I could remember. Was she unwell?

As Pari and I entered the house, I saw that there was someone else in the drawing room. He had his back to us, but as Mum noticed us and beckoned to come over, he turned and smiled warmly. I was sure he wasn't Indian, for all his dark hair and eyes and suntanned face. I couldn't place him though. But that mystery was solved the next moment as he stood up and shook hands with us, introducing himself as Doctor Antonio, from Naples. He had a very charming smile. I noticed with amusement that Pari seemed awestruck.

Mum gestured to us to go and change, and not until we had reached the landing upstairs did Pari utter a word, and then it was only a dazed "Wow!"

"Pari, he is too old for you!" I laughed.

"So what?" she replied. "He's so…hot! Actually I look too young for him!" She shook her head. "He will never notice me if he saw me only in this uniform. Must change into something glamorous!" And she rushed to her room. Crazy, that girl!

But when we went back to the drawing room we found only Mum there, staring out of the window. Pari looked crestfallen, but before she could say anything I nudged her and indicated Mum. For once, she understood. As we approached Mum she turned her head and smiled at us, but her eyes seemed to be looking at something far away.

I asked her if she was feeling ok.

"I'm fine," she answered and went to the sofa and sat down. We took the chairs opposite her.

She looked at us as if wondering whether to say whatever was on her mind or not. "Mum,' I asked tentatively, "is Dr. Antonio an old friend of yours?"

She nodded. "Yes, he is. I thought you would be wondering about him."

We said yes, and Pari added, "But if you don't want to tell, it's okay."

I was really surprised with her consideration.

"No, no, you're old enough to understand," Mum said calmly. "I think I should tell you. In fact, I want to, right now. But first, you must have lunch."

We protested we were not hungry, but she was firm. So we gobbled up our food at top speed and rushed back, and then she told us this extraordinary story.

I have already mentioned that my grandparents were biased towards Aunt Rose. But in spite of the lack of attention, or maybe because of it, Mum was a bright student, and a diligent one. It was the only thing she could have control over, you see. And then, because of her accident, she was fired by the idea of becoming a doctor. So while Aunt Rose opted for marriage after completing her graduation, Mum decided to do a specialization from USA, having earned her medical degree as well as a gold medal. Her parents didn't think much of it, but they knew that she wasn't going to get a good proposal easily. Also, Mum was going on a full scholarship and not asking them for a single penny.

"By then I was more confident of my abilities," said Mum slowly. "I told them that I had a right to make a success of my life, regardless of my looks. I emphasized that they would never find a suitable groom for me in their community, so the sensible thing to do was to let me go to another country where only my professional qualifications would matter. Some of their friends also advised them to let me go as obtaining the scholarship was something to be proud of. Finally they agreed."

Aunt Rose had had no dearth of proposals since she turned eighteen, and the old people were mightily pleased when she made a respectable match. In their eyes, Edward Masen, a good-looking boy from a respectable family and holding a post in the IAS (Indian Administrative Services) was no less than a demi-god. It was a pity that both of his parents had passed away when he was only in high school, but that couldn't be helped. At least he had uncles and aunts on both sides. In fact, the uncle who had brought him up was a senior officer in the IAS as well; that was something they could proudly mention to their relatives.

The wedding ceremony was followed by a grand reception, obviously. When it was over, the brand-new couple left on a honeymoon to the scenic Switzerland. Where else? After all, Switzerland has been touted as the perfect destination for honeymooners in our movies for years.

My grandparents were happy to foot the bill. In fact, they boasted about it to their relatives and friends. According to them, it was the least they could do for their darling daughter and their only son-in-law.

"Not many newly-married, young couples could afford to go to Switzerland in those days," declared my grandmother once. "But I told your grandfather that Rose and Edward must go there. It would be the perfect start to their life together. And nobody could say we didn't do right by them. After all, you don't get married every day; that too to an IAS officer!"

Her face shone with barely contained pride while she made this statement. Pari glanced at me with raised eyebrows and lips pressed together, but a quiet snort escaped her nevertheless. Thankfully our grandmother didn't notice.

At least she didn't say it in front of Dad. He would have died of embarrassment.

For being in the services, Dad is a very unassuming guy. He likes to spend as much time with us as possible. Oh, he attends parties and functions because he is expected to, but he has made it clear to us that his family is his priority. Every year we go on a family vacation, and it is so much fun.

Maybe it is because he lost his parents early and has no siblings, but unlike many of my classmates I have never felt neglected by him.

"Money and position can make you happy only up to a certain degree," he said quietly once when I thanked him for making time for us. "In the end what matters is how close you are to your family, the memories you make with them and the unconditional support you give and receive from them. Maybe some people want different things, but this is what makes me happy and content. When I see the three of you laughing together, my world feels complete."

It wasn't exactly a secret, but it was still kind of a revelation to me, a joyful one.

Oh, sorry for getting distracted. So where were we? Right, the young couple getting married and leaving for their honeymoon all those years ago, and my grandparents happy and proud to be able to send them.

You have probably noticed that I don't say Aunt Rose and Dad left for their honeymoon. That's just awkward. I don't want to think of them like that.

And Mum took the reluctant blessings of her parents and left for the States.

No doubt the old folks had resigned themselves to see Mum grow an old maid, slogging over her patients, lonely and unadmired. But it didn't turn out like that. While she was busy with her medical studies and residency, she met Toni, and something magical happened.

"I don't remember exactly when or where we met the first time," she mused, looking back into the past. "It must have been at the hospital, because I didn't have much of a social life. Looks do matter in these things, you know. And I was so introverted in those days, so horribly shy. It was only with children I felt—normal. They could see beyond this face, straight into my heart. With them I could talk and laugh freely. They were from different countries, but spoke the same language of love. I treated their bodies, but they treated my mind, my soul. Right from childhood I had been bitter, although I never showed it .I often fought with God for making me ugly and Rose so beautiful. I understood there was nothing I could do about it, so I applied myself to studies instead. I loved books because they did not judge me by my looks. They became my refuge. A good thing too, I realize now. By the time I became a doctor I knew for sure no _eligible_ bachelor was ever going to propose to me. And I didn't want to get married to a guy who would marry me only for the large dowry my parents could provide me.

America was better in one, and one respect only—I was spared the pitying glances of our relatives. And their hurtful words, their stupid suggestions to mother and father, of finding either a widower or a ghar-jamai (a groom who would stay with the bride's parents, usually wealthy ones) for me. Otherwise it was the same. I told myself I didn't mind. I read pity in some eyes, ridicule in others, but kindness and love were rare, especially in people of my age. That I received only from the little children, or from the elderly. I was as much of a recluse there as here, but the anonymity protected me. I decided never to return, to be surrounded by children forever. At least there would be some meaning in my life.

As I said, I'm not sure when did I meet Toni first. I must have seen him at the hospital a number of times the first year before realizing he was there, as a person I mean, not just another doctor. He was two years my senior, but very friendly. For a long time I was cautious. I had been either avoided or pitied so much that I had come to look upon myself as a non- entity. That someone could be genuinely interested in me was almost unbelievable. Still, he drew me out, and I told him everything I had kept to myself until then. My childhood, my envy and frustration, and my dreams. Slowly, in the next two years, we became very good friends. He was so patient, so understanding; I felt I was lucky to have him with me."

Mum paused here, as if deciding what to say next, and asked Pari to get a glass of water. For a change, she was remarkably quick getting it. Slowly she sipped the water, looked at us thoughtfully, and continued with the narration.

"It's difficult to pinpoint when our friendship changed into something deeper, something different. All I can say is, we enjoyed being together. We began to go out too, when we had free time. Which wasn't much, considering our jobs. He gave me the confidence I had always needed. I lost that awkwardness, that feeling of diffidence I had had since childhood. I even learned to dance."

She smiled at our surprised faces. "Oh yes, I could manage it, even with my bad foot. Not fast numbers of course, but otherwise it was not difficult. One just needs the right partner. Come to think of it, that goes for life too."

She gave us a moment to digest this, then continued. "One day he told me that he planned to go back to his hometown, to serve his people there. And in the same breath he asked me if I would accompany him, as his wife. I was so surprised I couldn't say a word. It's true I had been wishing for something like that for some time. But it was just that—a wish. Never in my dreams even had I expected it to come true. I asked him if he was sure."

She smiled reminiscently. "Perhaps he understood the panic in my voice, for he assured me gravely he was quite sure. I asked him why, and he replied with a smile, "Because there's no other way you will be with me for life!" Reluctantly I reminded him of my shortcomings, saying he could marry someone much better-looking. He answered, "Are you crazy? I don't want to marry your face or your foot, I want to marry you! And if it bothers you so much, you can go for cosmetic surgery. If it will make you feel better, that is. I love you exactly as you are."

Needless to say, I was on cloud nine, dreaming of a life in Italy with such a good man. I was anxious of my parents' reaction, but hoped they would finally understand. I sat up late in the night and wrote them a long letter, explaining everything. I thought I would post it in the morning. But that never happened."

My heart kind of dropped into my stomach as I deduced what must have happened. Still, it didn't explain why she could not have married the man she loved at a later date.

She took a deep breath. "Early next morning, there was a phone call for me from my father. Rose had died during childbirth, and I was needed at home. I could not believe it. My little sister, so pretty, so vibrant—dead! It was impossible. But true, said my father. I said I would be there as soon as possible.

I called up Toni. He was horrified, but very supportive. He helped me through everything. Both of us resigned. We were planning to do that anyway, just not that soon. Completing all the necessary paperwork took a week or so. Toni offered to come with me to India, but I asked him to go on to Naples as planned. It would have meant extra expenditure, and he wasn't exactly floating in money. He would have had to come here for the wedding anyway. I promised him I would broach the topic with my parents as soon as possible and inform him. Obviously it was going to take some time. Neither was it going to be easy in any way. I left for India, dreading the scene at home.

When I reached there my worst fears were confirmed. My mother was almost out of her mind with grief. Though the cremation was over she still used to wander in the house, calling for her little girl. Father was calm enough, but numb with shock He seemed so helpless. None of them was in a state to look after the two of you, and your Dad—he simply didn't know what to do. A few relatives were helping, but obviously they could not stay forever. And you were too young to be left to the care of servants entirely. So, almost automatically I took upon myself the responsibility of your well-being.

You (she looked at me fondly) were so small, and scared because of the strangely silent atmosphere at home. You missed your mother, and followed me around continuously. As for you, Pari, you did not even know whom you were missing. As long as I looked after you and fulfilled your needs, you were content. Days turned into weeks, and soon a month had passed. And I still couldn't bring myself to tell my parents about Toni. It didn't seem right somehow, to be thinking of my own happiness when they were so unhappy. I could see everyone was comfortable with the arrangement, and although mother had accepted Rose's death and was slowly returning to her normal self, I wasn't sure if she was up to taking another shock. And that's what my news would certainly have been, a shock. I called up Toni frequently, and explained the circumstances to him. He assured me I was doing the right thing and I should take my time.

One evening, just as I had put you two to bed—for about the sixth time, I think— my father approached me. I had never seen him so hesitant. With some difficulty he explained himself. He was worried for you, being under the impression that I would eventually return to USA. And then there would be none to take care of you. I told him then that I had decided not to return to the States.

He was so relieved, so happy. Before I could say another word he began to bless me for being so kind and considerate. He also berated himself for not recognizing my "true value" earlier, and what a gem of a person I was. He said he had been thinking about it for many days, seeing how much I loved both of you, and you me. That next to Rose I was the only one who could be your mother.

I was taken aback, but could not bear to disillusion him. For the first time in my life I was being considered worthy by him. And he was right. I had come to love you by then, and did not trust anybody else to look after you. Your Dad would have had to marry someone eventually. He couldn't have managed both office and home by himself. And what if the other woman hadn't cared for you, or worse, mistreated you? I couldn't let that happen!

Father spoke with your Dad. He was reluctant at first, but finally agreed. He loved Rose very much, but could see it was the only logical solution. Like me, he did not want to take a chance with your future by marrying a stranger. And so we were married, without any fanfare.

"And what about Toni?" Pari burst out, surprising both of us. She had been so still while Mum was speaking that I had kind of forgotten she was there. "Did you even inform him before getting married?"

"Of course I told him," said Mum heavily. "I called him up as soon as everything was decided. He did not blame me, although I could sense his tears over the phone. He said he understood, and that he would always remember me and cherish the time we had spent together as the most beautiful gift life had given him. (A shiver seemed to pass gently through her thin frame.) He wished me all the best in life, and promised he would come and see us whenever he came to India. That's why he was here today. He is here for a medical conference."

"And did he get married?" she fired another question.

Mum nodded. "I begged him to move on, insisting I wouldn't be happy until he was. Finally, he got married to a girl he used to know as a child. They are happy together."

I wanted to ask only one question, and I asked it then. 'Mum, your parents neglected you, your relatives always compared you unfavourably to Aunt Rose, and you had a lousy childhood, all because of her. Yet you gave up the one chance of happiness and love you had for her children. Why?"

She looked surprised. "Oh no, I didn't have a difficult time because of Rose. It was not her fault she was pretty and I was not. I know you imagine us as a kind of reversal of Cinderella and her ugly sister, but it wasn't like that."

She gave a rather impish smile at the look on our face. "Oh yes, you have let your imagination run away with you, haven't you? Although I must say your faith in me is touching. But you know, in spite of all the pampering she received Rose was quite unspoilt. She was a happy person, and she liked everyone around her to be happy. Why, all those photographs in which we are together—she was the one who dragged me in front of the camera. I would never have faced one on my own."

"But you have changed now, haven't you?" I asked. "I thought you were always like this."

She shook her head. "No, I wasn't. Like others I gave too much importance to looks. I believed that I didn't deserve love, romantic love, I mean. But Toni made me see how wrong I was. And Rose's death really shook me up. It also taught me an important lesson, which I should have learnt earlier as a doctor. That life is truly precious. Rose was pretty, but she had such a short life. Shouldn't I thank God then, for being alive and well? And surrounded by so much love? What I did was the least I could do, actually."

"But grandmother says Dad took pity on you and married you because nobody else would have," I said bitterly. "And both of them are so sentimental over her death even now!"

Mum raised her eyebrows at my tone. 'Well, who else should be they sentimental over? I'm still alive, am I not? Anyway, what mother thinks doesn't matter. You know the truth, and so does your Dad. That's enough for me." Her tone was very serious. "I have seen mother devastated over Rose's death. In fact, I was afraid for her life then. No, it's enough that she is still with us."

She looked at Pari curiously. "You are very quiet. What are you thinking of?"

"Just that you couldn't have loved Dad the way you loved Toni. It must have been difficult…for both of you," she answered softly.

It seemed to me Pari had suddenly grown up a lot in the last hour or two.

Mum did not reply immediately, but looked at her feet, which was uncharacteristic of her. When she finally raised her head her eyes were very bright.

"I did what I thought was right," she said, and her voice was steady. "It was my choice, and I have never repented over it, nor do I intend to. Life's like that. It asks us to decide one way or another, and does not give us much time. Maybe you don't understand it today, but one day you will. Children are the most precious gift God has given us. Whatever we do for them is worth doing."

She blinked and looked at us, her eyes warm and shining.

"You two love me, don't you?"

"Of course Mum," we said in unison.

"But are _you_ happy…with Dad?" I asked hesitantly.

She smiled shyly, her cheeks going pink. Was she blushing?

"Your father is very easy to love. It took us time to adjust to the shock life had given us, but yes, eventually we learnt to make the best of it."

Pari asked, "Can I ask you another question?"

Mum nodded, looking anxious. "Does Toni have a son? Of course he will be younger to me, but I can wait for him to grow up." Pari's eyes were alight with mischief.

Mum and I dissolved into laughter.

Later that evening, I watch my parents with new eyes. I notice how attentive Dad is to Mum, how he looks at her with adoration written on his face, and how his attention makes her eyes sparkle.

Even the way he calls her _Bella_ , not Isabella. Oh yes, they love each other all right. It is such a relief to me.

We all know Dad is a big softie, in spite of his tough guy act as a senior administrative officer. When Aunt Rose died, it probably shook his world. I am sure that Mum saved him as much as she saved Pari and me when she agreed to marry him, even though most probably she has never realized it.

You know, you are right. You really can't call my Mum pretty. You can, however, call her one of the most beautiful women on this earth.

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